


The Layover

by InnerSpectrum



Series: Sherlock December Ficlets 2017 [19]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Family Feels, Holmes Brothers, Sherlock Christmas Ficlets 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 02:41:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13157541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InnerSpectrum/pseuds/InnerSpectrum
Summary: Sherlock and Mycroft are stuck away from home for Christmas. A conversation happens...





	The Layover

**Author's Note:**

> This is a part of the [Sherlock December Ficlets ](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Farchiveofourown.org%2Fcollections%2FSherlock_December_Ficlets_2017&t=NjRmODc4ZjE3OGJjNjUzYzg2NWVhY2QzMTRjNDJmOTUwMzdkOTRhMCxabzFVQjBkMA%3D%3D&b=t%3AfMPAp7-tN-90HMCNGHRDOw&p=http%3A%2F%2Fmissdaviswrites.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F167644180668%2Fsherlock-december-ficlets&m=0) challenge. Each will be its own story, though knowing me a couple may follow an arc of sorts.  
> The prompt used for this entry: Father Christmas / Travelling

Sherlock picks up the Father Christmas statue from the table. It was very similar to the one at his parents home. The one Yellowbeard the Feared accidentally broke while brandishing the new sword to go with his new buccaneer hat that twelve-year-old Mycroft had given five-year-old Sherlock for Christmas. The one he painstakingly glued back together, leaving only the tiniest mar as evidence, even though Mummy had told him not to worry about it. 

“That was truly the last happy Christmas between us, wasn’t it?” Mycroft comments as Sherlock places it back on the side table. For a rarity the minor government official was completely relaxed as he sat crossed-legged on the sofa, a tumbler of very old Sherry rested on a pyjamas clad knee. He takes a sip and sighs. “My lord this is exquisite, Sherlock! Wherever did you find this?”

“Here or there in my travels - I’m not telling you! I may wish to return and gift you with another bottle someday. IF, you’re not naughty.” Sherlock takes a chair across the table from him and sits.

Mycroft's resounding snort as response gives the likelihood of that happening. "Then I'd best enjoy this, for its like may never cross this palette of mine again."

Sherlock raises his own glass sniggering, pleased that Mycroft likes the gift.

Both brothers were on layover in Berlin’s airport, on their way to their parents’ home for Christmas. Sherlock had finished a mission in Dubai and Mycroft was on his way home from a conference in Asia. They met up to discuss their next plans for the next step in dismantling Moriarty’s web, when a snowstorm hit harder than expected. All planes were grounded; nothing was landing or departing for at least day and they still had to wait for the tarmac to be made ready. Not even Mycroft’s resources were a match against the weather, so he used them instead to get them a suite in a hotel, under assumed names of course, while they waited.

The tabletop grandfather clock chimed one o’clock in the morning, the two brothers sat in the sitting room of the hotel room, in their pyjamas. Gift wrapping paper of one present each at their feet. Other presents sat waiting near a small tree. Christmas is still Christmas, and as much as they grouse about the sentiment of it all, the now grown men cannot make themselves break family tradition; they will wait until after 6am to open the remaining gifts.

“You went to University that spring semester. I remember I begged you not to leave me, but you did not wish to wait until fall. Our parents are good, wonderful intelligent people, our mother brilliant in her own right. Still, she and Dad could barely keep up with me as I grew.  You were the only one who understood how to engage me and you were not there.” Sherlock takes a sip of the sherry as he reflects on his brother’s words, reflects on their past. “For years, I thought it was because of me. That you did not want to take care of me. That you hated me, so I began to hate you. Did a rather proper job of it as I recall.” 

“God yes."Mycroft sat up and faced his brother. "That first spring break you spoke not one word to me that was not a direct order from our parents. I chose to take summer courses that year because I thought I was doing you a favor. The self imposed silence was killing you, but you refused to break it. I knew if I were not there, you would be free to speak. You were always vocal were I was taciturn. In hindsight, not a good decision. I should have come home, found some way to get back that bond. I was the elder; I should have tried harder. For that I am so sorry.” 

It was his tone more than his words that made Sherlock take notice and sit up as well.

“Mycroft, I was six and you were twelve when you left for uni. Neither of us had the tools to understand. You were hoping I would become more like you were and then I would magically understand why uni was important and I didn’t. I was hoping you would remain the big brother who taught me how to think and still knew it was important to let me be a pirate and you didn’t. Mummy and Daddy did not know how to teach me how to live in a world of normal people whose minds did not process things as our minds did. I copied your trappings, to mimic much of your behaviors until they became my own. I learned them the hard way as you had, but Mummy and Daddy found ways to keep me from totally losing that part of myself that made me different from you on the inside, so that part of me remained me. By then I was a teen, you were already becoming The Iceman. The ties that bound us were all but shattered when I started using drugs." Sherlock stared into the depths of his tumbler. Mycroft knew he had more to say and waited.

"It took until recently, until living with John, for me to realize things. You both want nothing from me than to be the best man that I can be. You both want this because you genuinely care. Your definition of the best man that I can be differs from John's and both differ from mine own. I can care. I do care sometimes. I understand it is not an advantage, but it is who I am. I am not a lesser man for it and that is where you and I clash."  Sherlock stood then and came to stand before Mycroft who stood as well. "Still, you try to protect me, sometimes from my own folly. You do your best by me as you know how and I am absolute shite to you for it. I know this now and for that I am so sorry.”

By unspoken agreement, they each place their drink on the coffee table and simply embrace each other. It is the first time they have come to each other as equals. The first time since they were children they have embraced each other as brothers who love each other because they choose to, at least within the privacy of these walls. The embrace is brief, the words unspoken, but heartfelt nonetheless.

“But you do know once we leave this place I have to go back to annoying you at every given opportunity.” Sherlock grins, picking up his glass and sits on the sofa opposite his brother.

“And I will return to my long suffering, high handed Big Brother ways to protect us from those who may wish to harm us or try to pit us against each other.” Mycroft picks up his sherry and levels a look at his little brother. “Speaking of Big Brother ways – do you wish to see him? I can have footage run through my laptop where it’s less risky.”

Sherlock flicks his eyes at his brother, there is no question; Sherlock knows exactly who  _he_  is. John Watson.

Mycroft was in Okinawa, but Sherlock knows by how Mycroft worded the statement that his brother is well aware that he went to Baker Street a week ago. Sherlock knew John was out visiting his sister and Mrs. Hudson was spending the holidays with hers, leaving the flat empty. Sherlock had simply wanted to be in his own home for a bit. He saw the coat and scarf on the rack and put them on as he walked around the flat. He went upstairs into John’s bedroom, smiled at the wash neatly piled in the basket, as it should be; not on the floor just outside the basket on the floor as Sherlock was wont to do because it annoyed John, but it also made John feel needed. He laid on the bed in his own bedroom for a good hour before straightening the bed of all evidence of his having been there, hanging the coat and scarf back just as John had it and finally leaving. 

Just as Sherlock knew he should not have gone to Baker Street, he knows he should not watch footage of the cameras still active in the flat. Against his better judgement, he went to Baker Street; he would not go against his better judgement for this. Not today, he cannot look at John Watson today, this first Christmas away from him, not knowing exactly when there will be another. Sherlock silently shakes his head in the negative knowing his brother would understand.

Mycroft does understand. It is why he has yet to tell his brother how the detective's little visit to Baker Street nearly broke the good doctor. How Sherlock accidentally set John to sobbing when he smelled the faint lingering scent of Sherlock’s presence there. He knows he will have to tell him before they reach London, so that Sherlock understands why he cannot step foot in Baker Street again until these missions are complete. But he does not have to tell him today.

“So we’re not exactly home. Want to break with tradition then, Brother Mine, open one more present each before 6am? I won’t tell Mummy if you won’t.” Mycroft points at the gifts remaining, a mischievous glint in his eyes. The Holmes boys plotting against the parentriarchy again.

Sherlock grins, appreciating the diversion for what it is and heads, for the tree.

“Deal!”


End file.
